The Mechanic Trilogy: the complete boxset

by Rob Ashman

  She slammed her right foot to the floor. The tyres screeched in protest as they gained traction and the car sped forward, accelerating fast.

  The man in the long coat heard the squeal and spun around.

  She reached the scrawny guy a little slower than planned but the front fender hit him about thigh height sending him bouncing onto the hood and off the windshield onto the ground. The glass splintered on impact.

  Her next target was a split second away.

  The big guy pulled open his coat and fumbled for his weapon. He was too slow and the impact wrapped him around the front of the car. He lay across the hood with his arms outstretched, his face a mix of terror and disbelief as Mechanic powered forward. The vehicle hurtled headlong into a parking bollard. His upper body catapulted backwards and then forward as the car came crashing to a stop. He thrashed around on the hood, pinned against the concrete pillar.

  Mechanic got out and walked back to scrawny guy. He lay on the floor groaning and rolling around. She stood astride him and grasped his jaw and the back of his head. His eyes locked with hers. She smiled and with a violent twist the bones cracked as his neck broke. He went limp.

  The man in the long coat was flapping around screaming and banging his hands on the hood trying to free himself. She walked over, reached into his coat and ripped free the sawn-off shotgun tossing it onto the floor. Back in the car she shoved it into reverse. Long-coat guy came along for the ride for about twelve feet then slid off the hood and onto the concrete.

  Mechanic looked through the splintered windshield at the figure crumpled on the ground in front of her. He was trying to sit up. She shifted to drive and stamped the accelerator into the carpet.

  There was a sickening squelch as the front grill smashed into his head and shoulders, followed by a rumbling as he passed under the car. Mechanic hit the brakes, got out and walked back to the mangled shape that only a couple of minutes ago had been selling narcotics to kids. He was unconscious but still alive.

  She grabbed his coat collar, dragged him back to the car and sat him upright against the fender. Mechanic opened the trunk and retrieved what she was looking for – a two-foot-long piece of knurled metal reinforcing bar.

  She bent his head back and opened his mouth.

  His eyes flicked open.

  Mechanic allowed herself a moment of pure indulgence as she held his gaze. She grasped his jaw and drove the bar down his throat. His body spasmed as the jagged edge tore its way into his body, blood erupted into his mouth.

  Mechanic stepped back and pulled a small camera from her pocket. The tiny flash lit up the gaping face. She walked away leaving the Crips’ market share more than a little destabilised.

  26

  The public library located on Regents Place was particularly helpful. Lucas and Harper stared at the flickering screens as microfiche images passed before them.

  Buxton Cope was a small township about twenty miles to the north of Vegas, population of 243, with sixty-one residences. Honeydew House housed three adults, family name of Huxton.

  A newspaper search turned up the report of the car crash which had left Mary-Jay in a vegetative state. It also reviewed the trial of Jeb Huxton following his Sunday afternoon visit to the dead boy’s home. The editorial slant vehemently disagreed with the judge who’d sent Jeb to prison. It would appear their readership thought Jeb should be made a congressman for what he’d done.

  Lucas pushed his chair away from the booth and wheeled himself next to Harper.

  ‘Doctor Gus might have given us exactly what we were looking for.’

  ‘Yeah, and you only paid the guy twenty bucks to get him into Harvard.’

  Lucas smiled. This was getting close.

  ‘Okay, so we’ve confirmed Honeydew House is a real place and the Huxtons live there. They have a daughter who was injured in a car crash and the paper mentions her being in an unresponsive state.’

  ‘I also read somewhere that the mother was a nurse,’ Harper added.

  ‘This is coming together nicely. The daughter is being looked after by the mother – Doctor Gus sounded certain there were two women being cared for at the house. Our working assumption has got to be the second one is Jo Sells.’

  ‘It sure looks that way. Off the grid but within easy reach. I’m getting a positive feeling.’

  ‘How do we approach this? We don’t know what sort of state she’s in, we need to check the place out. But we can’t turn up at the front door selling life insurance or encyclopedias in case Jo recognises us. She’ll alert Mechanic and then we’re all in need of end-of-life care.’

  ‘The other risk is what if Mechanic turns up, or worse still is at the property when we’re there.’ Both men spoke in hushed tones even though the place was deserted apart from a woman sitting behind a large counter about twenty yards away.

  ‘Jo is less likely to recognise me,’ said Harper. ‘A front door approach is too risky. It makes sense if I go to the house and case the joint to see if she’s there.’

  Lucas was deep in thought. ‘Until we’ve positively identified her there’s nothing we can do. We need to have eyes-on confirmation and then we can work out what comes next.’

  ‘It will be dark in a little over an hour, no time like the present.’ Harper removed the microfiche tape, got up and left.

  Lucas took one last look at the grainy newspaper report of the accident. The pretty face of Mary-Jay Huxton stared out of the screen. He wondered what she was staring at now.

  Harper was right. Seventy-five minutes later the sun disappeared and the headlights on the rental car illuminated the sign saying Buxton Cope. Lucas slowed down and they both scoured the neighbourhood looking for the Huxtons’ place. The address didn’t help much as there were no street names and very little street lighting, which made for slow progress. After a while they spotted a handwritten sign pointing to a house at the end of a long unmarked dirt-track road. It said Honeydew House.

  Lucas killed the lights and pulled over. The property was lit up, someone was home.

  ‘At least I’ll see anyone coming,’ said Harper, popping the clip from the grip of his gun. He checked it then snapped it back in place. Lucas kept his eyes on the rear-view mirror, all was clear.

  ‘No heroics,’ he said. ‘The last thing we want to do is spook them. If you can’t get a clear view come away and we’ll try again.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Harper flicking the switch in the roof of the car. He opened the door and the interior light stayed off. He stepped into the darkness and hurried up the road towards the house.

  As he got closer he could make out the layout of the property. It looked like the Huxtons were throwing a party – every light in the house was on. He skirted around the front gate and made his way down the side of the house. Despite the light show, the place was silent. Harper placed his foot onto the veranda which ran around the house. There was a creak as his weight transferred onto the boards, and he stepped onto the whitewashed porch. He made his way to the first of four windows and peered inside.

  It was a large farmhouse-style kitchen, with a big oak table and six chairs pushed under it. The wooden worktops were wiped clean and dishtowels hung against the front of the range cooker. No one was there.

  Harper stayed close to the wall and ducked under the sill to the second window. This one looked into a hallway with the walls covered in paintings and photographs. Wall lamps flooded the ceiling with light and the floor was covered with rugs of various shapes and designs. No one there either.

  The curtains on the third window were only partly closed. Harper bent down and looked through the gap. It was the living room, spacious with vases of fresh flowers and a random selection of soft furnishings none of which matched. He could see the back of the sofa and the dark silhouettes of two heads. One was a woman and the other a man. They were watching television.

  To the side Harper saw two seated figures. He had a good line of sight to the one nearest. A withered figure of a woman in a wheel
chair with a blue mask over her mouth and a skullcap which gave the impression of her being bald. He couldn’t make out the second person, his view was obstructed.

  He changed position but it was no use.

  Harper was about to try the other window when the woman on the sofa got up. She placed both hands on the shoulders of the emaciated woman and kissed her on the forehead. She pushed her back slightly and walked towards the kitchen. Harper ducked down and held his breath.

  He raised his head and peered through the curtains. The second woman was now in full view.

  Her face was puffy and a neck brace held her head upright. She wore a bandage around her head with tufts of hair poking out. She stared at the TV with her jaw hanging down. Harper could only see the side of her face but there was no mistake. He was looking at Dr Jo Sells.

  Moran pulled up at the out-of-town trading estate. It was dark, and the red and blue flashing lights bounced off the shopfronts. There was a buzz of activity inside the yellow taped-off area with paramedics hunched over a body on the ground. To the left there was another huddle taking high-resolution pictures of the back of a car.

  She reached the tape and held up her badge.

  ‘Detective Moran,’ she said to the uniformed officer standing on guard. ‘I’m here to meet Detective Chad Mills.’

  ‘He’s over there, the one in the loud shirt.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Moran couldn’t miss him. If her dress sense was all about being monochrome, his was the complete opposite. He looked like a tourist who’d spent all his money at the Hawaiian market.

  ‘Detective Mills?’ She stood next to him as he checked the pockets of the man on the floor.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘I’m Detective Moran. Despatch sent me over here.’

  Mills looked up. ‘Ah, the new girl.’

  Moran disliked him instantly.

  ‘I saw the new-joiners memo which said you’d be turning up sometime soon. Welcome to Vegas.’ He stood up. ‘What we have here is a standard drug-related hit straight out of the playbook. John Doe No.1 here looks like he was rammed by the car which broke his neck. John Doe No. 2 over there had a much tougher ride.’

  They walked over to the second knot of people. The body was sitting upright against the rear of the car, illuminated by the bright white staccato flash of the camera. It gave the scene a Friday the 13th look.

  ‘This vic was also run over but I don’t reckon that’s what killed him. He was dragged to this position from over there and died from having this rammed down his throat.’ He pointed to the metal spike sticking out of the man’s mouth.

  Moran bent down and shone her flashlight onto the bar. It had the same knurled pattern cut into the metal as the one from the mortuary.

  ‘I’ve seen this before,’ she said.

  ‘So have I, Detective, so have I.’

  ‘No, I mean I’ve seen this MO before. The metal bar. I saw this on another drug relat—’ She wasn’t allowed to finish.

  ‘They do this all the time. One crew grows stronger than another and moves in on the weaker gang’s territory. Then they get rich and complacent and another gang moves in on them. And so it goes around and around.’

  ‘But this is different, don’t you think? No shots fired, the vics are killed by hand. The steel rod rammed down the throat. This is a high-risk strategy for someone who simply wants to take out the competition. There are three more bodies exactly like—’

  ‘Like what exactly? Like what?’ Mills was walking away.

  Moran caught up with him. ‘I saw this a few days ago with another gang.’

  ‘As I said, it happens all the time. You’d better get used to it cos this is Vegas, baby, this is Vegas. I’m heading back to the station, fancy a coffee?’ Mills got in his car and drove away.

  This jerk was annoying as hell.

  27

  Lucas and Harper were sitting in the darkest part of the darkest bar in Vegas. Lucas’s vocabulary had completely deserted him.

  ‘Fucking hell.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m telling you it was her,’ Harper replied from the gloom.

  ‘Are you sure, are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘It’s her. I even heard the Huxton woman talking to them and she definitely said Jo.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Lucas finished his drink and ordered two more.

  ‘I couldn’t tell what state she was in but it didn’t look good. I stayed as long as I dared and she didn’t move. I mean, didn’t move an inch. Nothing. The other woman, the daughter, didn’t look in great shape either. She wore some sort of medical helmet and was motionless the whole time I was there.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’ His vocabulary failed again.

  ‘Other than being in a wheelchair and unable to move, with a bandage around her head, she looked the same.’

  ‘Mechanic brought her all this way and kept her alive,’ said Lucas.

  ‘Looks like you were right. The question is, now what do we do?’

  ‘We need to think of a way to get to Mechanic through Jo.’

  ‘Snatch her,’ replied Harper a little too quickly.

  ‘That’s a possibility but we’ll need to be able to look after her. We want her alive as bait, not dead.’

  ‘Do we?’ Harper emptied the glass in a single glug and picked up another.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘We snatch Jo and use her to lure Mechanic into the open. She could be dead or alive, Mechanic wouldn’t know. I say snatching Jo is our only option. We gotta use her as leverage to make Mechanic give herself up. If we keep Jo alive – fine, if we don’t – fine. The result is the same.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that.’ Lucas was feeling a little squeamish. ‘I want Mechanic dead more than anyone but I’m not convinced about killing Jo in the process.’

  ‘The way to Mechanic is through Jo. We need to stop that murdering psycho bitch before she kills again, which she will. It’s simply a matter of time. I shot Jo because I wanted her dead, I have no scruples about finishing the job. If she dies as a result of the snatch, so be it. If it means we get to kill Mechanic, it’s worth a few sleepless nights.’ He tilted back his head and another drink disappeared down his throat.

  Lucas knew he was right. They stood no chance tackling Mechanic head on. The only way this could work would be if she gave herself up in return for her sister.

  ‘There’s another reason we have no choice,’ said Harper.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who do you think is top of Mechanic’s kill list right now?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought of that. It’s you and me.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Lucas was quiet for a while, and then offered a poorly thought through suggestion. ‘We could go back to first base and inform Chuck Hastings.’

  Harper looked at him in disbelief. ‘You want to trust this to them? It’s now a cross-jurisdiction case because it’s in another state, which means the FBI will want their slice of the pie, as well as the guys from Florida and Vegas.’ Harper waved his hand and ordered two more drinks. ‘Let’s be fair, you and I both know it’s got “catastrophic screw-up” written all over it. Mechanic will slip away in the confusion and we’ll be in hiding for the rest of our lives.’

  Harper was on a roll. ‘Besides, have you forgotten you’re suspended? You drag your flabby ass to the other side of the country chasing a serial killer when you’ve been told to back off. You would be dead meat my friend. Dead meat.’ The bartender beat a hasty retreat having overheard the last set of comments.

  ‘Shhh!’ Lucas put his finger to his lips. ‘Okay, okay. I get it, that’s not a good thing to do.’

  ‘It’s a stupid, bone-headed thing to do. We turn this over to the police and we lose control. You get fired for gross misconduct and I’ll be done for perverting the course of justice or something. Mechanic will evaporate into thin air, and you and me will be dead men walking.’

  Lucas picked up the shot glass and necked it back.

 
‘A snatch it is then.’

  28

  Mechanic showed Silverton the stark photograph depicting a long-coated man propped against the back of a car with the metal spike protruding from his mouth. He was ecstatic.

  ‘Nice touch,’ he said referring to the signature method. ‘That sends a clear message. Have you turned up anything on who hit my team?’

  ‘No nothing, Mr Silverton.’

  ‘This goes through the accounts as a business development cost,’ Silverton said throwing a paper bag across the room. It landed in her lap. Mechanic opened it and stared at fifteen thousand dollars in used notes, apparently the going rate for destabilising the drug market one gang at a time.

  She was getting paid well to do something which she was doing for free anyway. Her stress levels were low and her cash reserves were high. She would soon have enough money to buy a bigger place, convert it and move Jo in. The Huxton woman could call daily to look after her as she no longer required twenty-four-hour care. Jo was stable, but nothing could be done to bring her out of her locked-in state. Drugs, bathing, toileting and feeding had become routine tasks which could be delivered at Mechanic’s home equally as well as at the Huxtons. She wanted Jo to be near her.

  ‘So who’s next boss?’

  Back home Mechanic put the paper bag into a holdall and stuffed it into the top of her wardrobe. She zipped up her light bomber jacket and checked her kit. The silenced .45 was holstered in place under her left arm with four spare clips, throwing knives secured to her ankles, and a hunting knife in the back of her belt. She wore black cotton trousers and gloves. The small dark rucksack at her feet contained all the necessary toys and treats if you were looking to take down a drug den. Today it was the turn of the Turks. All she needed to complete her preparation was a two-foot length of knurled metal reinforcing bar and it was time to go to work.

  The Turks ran the east side, they were a small outfit and new to Vegas. What they lacked in size they made up for in bloody carnage. The territory had been previously occupied by the Cobras who were wiped out by the Turks over the course of a single weekend. On Friday the punters had bought gear from their friendly local Cobra dealer and on Monday did business with the Turks. It was clinical and brutal.